The weight of two worlds
You're not sad exactly. It's more complicated than that. You miss your abuela's kitchen on Sunday, the specific way light hits the street where you grew up, conversations that moved slower and meant more. Your family back home sees your New York life on Instagram and thinks you're thriving. But at night, alone in your apartment, you feel the distance like a physical thing. The city is faster, colder, more efficient. Nothing here feels accidental or leisurely. And you're supposed to be grateful, right? You came here for opportunity. So why does it sometimes feel like you left your soul behind?
There's also the practical weight. Finding work where your education translates. Learning unspoken rules at your job that nobody explains but everyone seems to know. Navigating a healthcare system that assumes things about how you think, what you eat, what matters to you. Managing money differently. Maybe sending it back home. Watching your kids—if you have them—grow up American in a way that breaks your heart a little, even as you want this for them. The loneliness isn't always obvious. You're surrounded by people. But it's a particular kind of loneliness that comes from being between cultures, fully at home in neither.
I realized I wasn't depressed—I was grieving. And nobody around me understood that grief was actually love.
New York has a massive Colombian community. You see yourself everywhere—in the bodegas, the restaurants, the music spilling from cars. And yet you might feel more isolated than ever, comparing your struggle to others' apparent success, wondering if you're the only one who feels this way. The thing is, you're not. What you're feeling is real, valid, and shared by thousands of people in this city going through exactly what you're going through.
Why this matters, and why therapy actually helps
Immigration isn't just a logistical challenge. It's a grief process. You've experienced loss—of place, routine, the person you were in that place, certain relationships, a sense of belonging that felt effortless. Our culture teaches us to push forward, to be strong, to focus on gratitude. But grief doesn't disappear because you're grateful. It sits in your chest. And when it's not processed, it shows up as anxiety, disconnection, anger you don't expect, or a numbness that worries you more than sadness would.
Therapy gives you a space—maybe the first space—where you don't have to explain yourself or prove you're doing okay. A therapist who understands immigration, cultural identity, and the specific experience of New Yorkers can help you integrate these two parts of yourself instead of living in the tension between them. You can grieve what you left behind without minimizing what you've built. You can feel proud of your resilience and still acknowledge how hard this is. That's not weakness. That's wisdom.
Therapy helps Colombian immigrants in New York process acculturation stress, grief, and identity shifts in a way that honors both worlds. Research shows that culturally informed therapy reduces isolation, clarifies values, and actually strengthens your ability to build a meaningful life here—without erasing who you were there.
What actually helps — and how to access it
BetterHelp has over 30,000 licensed therapists available by text, phone, or video. No commute. No waiting list. A session from your home, your car, or your lunch break — whenever works for you.
Therapists who understand
Filter by specialty and find someone experienced with exactly what you're going through.
Text, call, or video
You choose how you communicate. Message between sessions too.
Completely confidential
HIPAA compliant. Private and secure, always.
Weekly pricing
Pay weekly, not monthly. Cancel anytime. Financial aid available.
You don't have to figure this out alone
Answer a few questions and BetterHelp will match you with a licensed therapist in under 48 hours.
Talk to Someone TodayYou're not the only one who felt this way
When I first called, I thought I was broken. I had a good job, friends, but I couldn't stop crying on the subway. My therapist asked me about home—really asked—and something shifted. We talked about my abuela, what I missed, what I was building here. For the first time, I didn't feel like I had to choose. By month three, I wasn't crying on the subway. I was texting my mom longer messages. I joined a group. I started cooking her recipes again. I'm not the same person who left Bogotá. I'm not trying to be. I'm becoming someone new, and I'm okay with that now.
Questions people ask before starting
The first step is the hardest one
Five minutes to get matched. Licensed therapist. Confidential. 20% off your first month.
Talk to Someone TodayNo commitment · Cancel anytime · Confidential